


maybe it wasnt love

by crisscross



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisscross/pseuds/crisscross
Summary: but couldn't you say it was good enough?Tim doesn't know if he'd call them dates, but he also doesn't know what else to call them.





	maybe it wasnt love

Tim doesn't know if he'd call them dates, but he also doesn't know what else to call them. 

When everything was getting to be a little too much, and Jay wordlessly started moving furniture around in their hotel rooms before switching on the radio, or pulled over on a deserted road and turned up the music. 

When Jay grabbed Tim's hands and pulled him up from wherever he was sitting, and they fell into a calm rhythm, swaying along to the radio host selected tunes. When Tim would rest his head against Jay's chest and close his eyes, listen to the steady heartbeat of his unlikely lover, arms wrapped around his neck, Jay's fingers interlocked over the small of Tim's back. When Jay would mutter sweet nothings in Tim's ear, of the future, of what could be, everything he wanted to do with Tim when all of this was over. And for that night, neither of them thought about the question that always haunted them -  _ would this ever be over?  _

Tim doesn't know what to call this, either. 

Swaying alone in his dark kitchen, holding himself, softly weeping as he mumbles along to whatever song is on. Grief, maybe? Loneliness, depression? Perhaps ‘pathetic’ might be the right one. He doesn't know.

All he knows is it doesn't feel the same, obviously, but it's the closest he can get. Closing his eyes and picturing the soft fabric against his cheek, the cheap furniture or asphalt around him, Jay's unintentionally empty promises of a future they'd never get to have together. 

Tim clutches himself tighter, in a desperate attempt to not fall apart right there on the linoleum floor. 

It's unsuccessful. 


End file.
